December Blues
by TakeALookAtTheInvisibleGirl
Summary: Still reeling from the death of Sister Evangelina, how will the nuns and midwives deal with a tragic situation a week before Christmas?
1. August 10: Part 1

For those connected directly to Nonnatus House, dealing with the death of their beloved Sister Evangelina proved to be difficult. No one could replace the woman who had spent her life serving the residents of Poplar. The smallest things reminded the nuns and nurses just how big a loss this was.

But time was an ever-passing thing. While the pain didn't subside, there was work to be done. Everyone agreed on one thing: The best way to honor Sister Evangelina's life was to give the people the best medical care possible. Those who lived at Nonnatus House threw themselves into their work. A new normal, Sister Julienne called it, though it would take time for it to actually feel normal.

The woman who had the toughest time adjusting to life without Sister Evangelina was Shelagh Turner. A former nun, she longed for the closeness and support of fellow sisters. As her husband Patrick's secretary, she didn't even have the direct, day-to-day support of the midwives. In times of tragedy, one looked to their family for comfort. However, with the fallout of the thalidomide discovery, Patrick was dealing with his own guilt. Not wanting to add to his load, Shelagh threw herself into the work. Soon, Patrick's filing system was completely reorganized to a system of complete efficiency. For her, at least.

Shelagh also found solace in spending as much time as she could with her stepson, Timothy, and her daughter, Angela. It was this desire to hold her children close that prompted her to pop into Violet Gees. She found pleasure in spoiling Angela in small ways, and one could never have too many hair ribbons!

Walking hand-in-hand with her daughter, Shelagh smiled at Violet, the shop owner and wife of Nonnatus House handyman Fred. "Good morning, Mrs. Buckle."

"Morning, Mrs. Turner." Violet then peered over the counter to look at the little girl. "And hello, Miss Angela!"

Angela smiled sheepishly up towards Violet.

"What can I help you with today?" Violet asked Shelagh.

"I'm looking to pick up a few more hair ribbons for Angela."

"I just received a shipment of new colors. You'll have first pick."

Shelagh smiled, a result of Violet's kindness. She watched as Violet went to the door that led to the back.

"Cathy," Violet called out to her shop girl, "will you bring the new hair ribbons out front, please?" Violet stood there, as though waiting for an answer. None came. "Cathy?"

The second call was met with more silence. It worried Violet. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" she asked Shelagh.

"Of course."

Violet went off into the back room, expecting to find Cathy hard at work on some other project. Instead, she found the back door open. It wasn't all that unusual. Given the heat of a Poplar summer, she didn't at all mind Cathy keeping the back room open. What was unusual about it all was the noise she heard coming from out the door. The sound only grew louder as she approached.

Outside the door, Violet saw Cathy. Hunched over an old bucket she sometimes used for cleaning, she held her hair back with one hand as she threw up.

"Oh my word."

After only a few moments, Cathy was finished with her business and finally able to stand up to face her employer. "Mrs. Buckle. I'm so sorry... I heard you calling me. Really, I did. Only I couldn't come because I felt so..."

"Lousy," Violet finished for her.

Cathy nodded. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.

"Come back inside, love."

"But the bucket-"

"We'll take care of that later," Violet said, putting her arm around Cathy and bringing her back inside the shop.

Once inside, she sat Cathy down on the old couch she kept back there for purposes of eating lunch comfortably. The couch served a very different purpose in that moment, though, as Cathy was wobbly on her feet by the time she got there.

"Mrs. Turner," Violet called out, "could you pop back here, please?"

Shelagh complied, coming into the back of the shop with Angela in tow. She took one look at the girl who looked pale and knew something was afoot.

"Mrs. Turner, this is Cathy. She helps me around the shop. Cathy, this is Mrs. Turner, a nurse."

"Hello, Cathy," Shelagh said.

Cathy mustered up a small smile, despite how horribly she was feeling.

Shelagh looked to Violet. "Do you think could you get Cathy some water?"

"Of course." Violet crossed the room to get to the sink.

Turning back to the girl, Shelagh said, "You don't look as though you're feeling well today."

"No. I'm not. I haven't for a week or so."

Cathy's American accent only came as a momentary shock. Shelagh couldn't recall a time where she ran into an American living in Poplar.

"And is it your stomach? Something else?"

"I've been feeling so nauseous and so tired," Cathy confided. "I try to ignore it, to get on with my work. Usually I can, but today I couldn't. Yesterday, I couldn't either."

"You should have said something," Violet said, returning with the cup of water. "I would have let you have the day off!"

Cathy took a sip of the water before speaking. "It's just that, I haven't been working here very long. I didn't want to give off the wrong impression."

"You wouldn't have given off any wrong impressions," Violet assured her. "You've got to take care of yourself."

"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

Cathy mulled the question over. Her last cycle had been when? Now that she thought about it, she had skipped a month. It was something to easily overlook, given all Cathy had going on. "I... I don't know."

"My husband is a doctor," Shelagh said. "Once you drink your water, why don't we pop over to the surgery?"

"Oh, I don't know," Cathy said.

"You'll do as Mrs. Turner asks," Violet interjected, "and then it's back home to rest."

"Are you sure?" Cathy asked.

Shelagh picked up on the timidness in the girl's voice. What reason would that be? Though she didn't know Violet well, Shelagh was certain there was no need to be afraid of the woman.

"Absolutely certain," Violet assured her. "Once I get Mrs. Turner set with hair ribbons for her daughter, you'll be off with her."

Cathy nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Buckle."

Violet smiled at the girl. Then she fetched a box from one of the storage shelves before ushering Shelagh and Angela back to the front of the shop. Cathy was left to sip her water and regain her strength.

 **A/N:** I'm intending for this to be a long fic, so I promise it'll feature more of your CTM favorites!


	2. August 10: Part 2

Cathy begrudgingly followed Shelagh back to Dr. Turner's surgery. The thought of motherhood frightened her if she was being honest. With how her relationship had been with her own mother, how would she herself be a good mother? Paired with being left alone with this strange woman who did seem nice, she was frightened.

Shelagh did her best to try and ease the girl's fears. She made idle chat with Cathy, and it was only once they arrived at the surgery that she realized she had done the bulk of the talking.

Once Angela was secure in her playpen, Shelagh left mother mode and entered into the mind of a nurse. There were things she needed to know about her patient, things that were of a personal nature. She set Cathy up in an examination room and brought in a clipboard with the necessary questions.

"Now, Cathy. Let's start with the basics. Your name, your address, and your date of birth."

"Catherine with a C, not a K. Last name Cook, no e. 78 Smith Street, Poplar. I was born on May 16, 1934. I'm twenty-six."

"Maiden name?"

Her face turned grave. "Is that necessary?"

Shelagh was taken aback by this. The way her pupils immediately dilated, the girl's fear was apparent. "No. Of course not. We'll just move on." She looked back down at the clipboard. How many times had she read from this same intake form? Yet she somehow was forgetting what came next, her mind wanting to focus on and analyze Cathy's response to the request. But there was no time for that. "And for martial status..."

"Married," Cathy said, a smile forming on her face as she thought of her husband.

Shelagh wrote this down. "Do you have a telephone?"

Cathy nodded. "The number is Poplar 394."

"Well, I know your occupation," Shelagh said with a smile, easily filling in this bit of information herself. "Have you a GP?"

"No. I haven't needed one. Till now."

"Well, Doctor Turner makes a wonderful GP if I do say so myself." Shelagh had a clear bias towards her husband's ability as a practitioner. However, she had felt this way for as long as she had known Patrick, well before any feelings began developing. "Now for a few questions of a more personal nature. When abouts was your last cycle?"

"A month ago. I'm usually like clockwork, you see, but things have been..." Cathy struggled for a moment to come up with the right word. "Things have been difficult. I just didn't notice."

"And besides your nausea and fatigue, have you had any other symptoms?"

"Not that I recall, no."

"Do you have any other health problems?

"No." It was only the partial truth. The whole truth wasn't something she ever wanted to talk about.

Shelagh set aside the clipboard and produced a sample jar from the closet. "I'm going to need a urine sample from you. You can just leave it on the sink, and I'll fetch it afterward." As she handed the jar to Cathy, she noticed the color quickly leaving her face.

"Where's the toilet?" Cathy asked. Her voice shook and her eyes closed as she spoke, as though she was trying to concentrate.

"Just out the door and across the hall."

She hopped off the examination table and rushed to the door. Throwing it open, Cathy went out into the hallway and into the bathroom. The door was slammed shut. Shelagh, too, left the room. As soon as she stepped foot in the hallway, she recognized the sounds that were coming from the bathroom.

An idea came into her head, so she walked towards the bathroom door. "Cathy. I'm just going to brew you some ginger tea to help settle your stomach. Once you've finished up, just wait for me by my desk."

Not expecting an answer, Shelagh walked away from the door and went in the direction of the entrance to the Turner home. Using her key to unlock the door, she entered her dwelling and shut the door behind her. A quick check on Angela revealed that her stepson, Timothy, was now home.

"Hi, Mum," he said.

"Timothy. I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"It's too hot for cricket," he told her. "I'd rather sit here and wait for the day Dad finally takes us to the sea."

"A trip to the sea would be lovely, Tim, but it's just not a good time right now."

"I know." As much as they had tried to shield him from the discussions of recent medical events, Timothy had heard his fair share. He knew what had gone on.

"Will you watch your sister for me, please?"

"Of course. I've honestly nothing better to do anyway."

Shelagh smiled at him, then walked to the kitchen. She went through the usual motions of making tea. Filling the kettle, getting the burner lit and hot, waiting for the boil while getting the mugs ready. The act was second nature, not something she needed to focus on to get right. This allowed her mind to wander.

It suddenly occurred to Shelagh that this tea offering was an act with dual meanings. Of course, the first was her nurse's perspective. With Cathy feeling so poorly from possible morning sickness, it was important for her to help her feel well enough to make it home. Six months prior, Distival could have been something to consider if Cathy did turn out to be pregnant. No longer could that be an option. With its link to the deformities in newborns, it was not a risk Patrick was willing to take. For good reason, too.

The nurse perspective combined with her compassionate and curious sides for the second meaning of her gesture. Something seemed off about Cathy. As everyone did have a story, what was Cathy's? Perhaps the tea, she thought, would help the girl feel comfortable in opening up. Whatever the story was, Shelagh wouldn't pry, even if she ended up feeling that she should.

All this thinking had made time pass quickly, and the water was already boiling. Shelagh removed the pot from the stove top, shutting the burner off. Then she continued on getting the tea ready.

Cathy, for her part, had finished up in the bathroom and sat by the desk. A part of her was compelled to leave the surgery right then and there. Mrs. Turner was, after all, a stranger, and she didn't yet trust the woman. In truth, Cathy didn't really trust anyone. Chalk it up to her former life, the one she would gladly wake up forgetting if she was given the opportunity.

The door to the surgery opened, and in walked a man carrying a black bag. It was the classic way to spot any doctor. Taking in his features, he was a tall man with dark hair and good features. He didn't look anything like _him._ If this was to be her doctor, Cathy would be okay with that in time. Like Mrs. Turner, the doctor was a stranger that she did not simply trust because he had the black back and, presumably, a white coat.

"Good morning," Doctor Turner greeted Cathy. "The surgery isn't open just yet."

She mustered up the courage to reply, "Mrs. Turner told me to wait for her here. She's gone off to make tea."

Shelagh's ears must have been ringing as she reentered the surgery and arrived holding two mugs just as Cathy was explaining to Patrick about the tea. "Doctor," Shelagh said, longing to call him by his name and give him a kiss. Yet she would act professional for the sake of the patient. It was in her nature. "This is Cathy Cook. Cathy, this is Doctor Turner."

"Pleasure to meet you," Patrick said, reaching out to take her hand.

Cathy stayed silent as she smiled and shook his hand in return.

Patrick turned back to face his wife. "I'm going to go spend a few minutes with Angela."

Shelagh gave him a nod, then watched as he walked away. Before he had left, she turned away from the sight and handed Cathy one of the mugs. "Here you are."

"Thank you." Though it was still hot, Cathy took a sip. The warmth soothed her throat, and she hoped the ginger would eventually soothe her queasy stomach.

Sitting at the desk with her own mug, Shelagh thought it would be good to initiate conversation instead of sitting there in awkward silence. She figured she would ask an easy question. "How long have you been in Britain?"

"About four and a half years now. I've been a citizen for seven months."

"Well, congratulations. I'm glad you've been able to make a home in our country. What made you and your husband decide to come here?"

"Roger? Oh, he's from Ilford. We were together when we got word that his mother was sick. When he said he wanted to come back... I just couldn't let him go without me. Quit my job, packed my bags. It was the best decision I ever made."

"I hope the mail system is faster than it used to be."

Cathy quirked an eyebrow. "The mail?"

"Well, I remember when I was young," Shelagh said. "My father had a friend who moved to the States. Letters sometimes came a month after they had been sent. So I hope it's much faster. That way you can write to your family and get faster responses."

The family aspect. People often assumed that there would be a multitude of letters coming her way. "The only family I've got is Roger's, actually."

"Oh," Shelagh said. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. A few friends write, and that's all I need."

Shelagh appreciated her attitude about the situation. Still, it was upsetting to hear that she had no one. Before asking another question, she took a sip of tea. But there would be no chance to ask another question.

From the Turner's kitchen came the crash of pot and pan lids hitting the floor. It was a sound Shelagh was used to hearing. Angela was young and had done it several times before. It wasn't the most celebrated act in the Turner household, and the more it happened, the more frustrated she became. When would the phase end?

The noise had a profound effect on Cathy. She gasped and brought her hand to her chest. Her heart skipped a beat before it began to pound. In one abrupt movement, she slammed her mug down on the desk and stood. "I have to go home."

"Cathy?" Shelagh asked, alarmed. She stood up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied. "I've got to go. Thank you, Mrs. Turner. For everything." Holding tight to her purse, Cathy left the surgery just as fast as she could.

It all happened so quickly that it took Shelagh a moment to take it all in, to react at all. At the speed Cathy had been going, she wouldn't be able to catch up. There was no stopping her. Instead, she went towards the door of the house.

Entering, she didn't even bother to shut the door. Shelagh headed straight for the kitchen. Only the perpetrator didn't seem to be Angela.

"Patrick?"

A lid in each hand, Patrick turned towards his wife. "Sorry. I was going to make Angela a cup of Horlicks before her nap, and when I opened the cabinet all the lids fell out."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just fine." He smiled. "But thank you, for coming in to check on me."

Shelagh sighed. "The noise scared Cathy off."

"What do you mean?" Patrick asked. He placed the lids on the counter and focused his attention on Shelagh.

"As soon as she heard the crash, something switched in her. I don't know why, but she looked truly frightened. I think something's wrong, Patrick, but I don't know what."

Patrick frowned. He didn't know Cathy all that well, and Shelagh didn't know her much better. However, he trusted her judgment completely.

"I'll make the Horlicks," Shelagh told him. "You go get ready to open for the afternoon."

Satisfied with this change, Patrick went over to Shelagh and finally gave her that kiss he had so wanted to give her the moment he walked in from his rounds.

Cathy felt safe the moment the blue door became visible. She fished her key from her purse and unlocked the door as soon as she arrived in front. Cathy entered the house.

When Roger's mother, Alice, passed away, the money she left and the money from selling her home was enough for the couple to purchase a two-story, two-bedroom flat. Given his line of work, Roger's income wasn't the steadiest, which necessitated Cathy's work. Still, the couple took pride in their home and saved as much money as they could for the day they could leave Poplar.

Locking the door and putting her purse down, Cathy called out. "Rog?"

Roger poked his head out of the front sunroom. His hair was neatly combed, and the shirt he was wearing showed off the physique that had attracted her from the start. "Cathy. I wasn't expecting you home so soon, darling." He walked over to her and gave her a peck on the lips

"I'm not feeling well. Mrs. Buckle was kind enough to let me come home for the rest of the day."

"What is it?"

"Just feeling a bit sick is all. Nothing a rest won't help."

"Join me for a nap then?"

Cathy took his hand into hers. Then she led him up the stairs, headed for their bedroom. Roger set about changing out of his clothes and into a pair of shorts he had fashioned from pajama bottoms. She went to her side of the bed, facing the wall.

Now that she was safe in the confines of her home, Cathy tried to keep her mind from wandering back to what had happened at the surgery. Her ability to keep the thoughts at bay wasn't working. Hot tears sprang to her eyes as her heart once again began to beat at a fast pace. She held onto the edge of the bed and shut her eyes. The key was to focus on her breathing. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. In the chance that it worked, Cathy had to make herself try.

When Roger turned back to the bed, he noticed his wife's rigid nature. This wasn't the first time he had seen it happen to her. Instead of saying anything, he sat on his side of the bed, keeping his body as turned as he could so he could keep an eye on her. He had come to learn that his touch didn't help her unless she wanted physical comfort. If all Roger could do was sit there and be present, he would do the best job he could.

It was Cathy who made the first move in opening her eyes and loosening her grip of the bed. She took a breath, then slipped her shoes off before swinging her legs up onto the bed. She waited for Roger to do the same before settling close to his arms.

Roger placed a tender kiss on the top of Cathy's head. "Tough day?"

"Yeah."

"It's been awhile."

"I know."

"Do you need anything?" This was something he asked often. Anything to make the strife even a touch easier for Cathy.

"Just a nap with you close by. I don't want to talk about it."

It was something he certainly could arrange. Roger kissed the top of Cathy's head again before shutting his eyes. Whenever things like this happened, it bothered him that he couldn't take away even a fraction of the pain his wife was burdened by.

When he opened his eyes again, he noticed that Cathy, who now had her eyes closed, had visible tears running down her cheek. Roger frowned before placing another kiss atop her head. He didn't turn the tears into a big deal. From experience, Roger knew pressing the issue and getting Cathy to talk was counterproductive when she wanted to be silent. He did anything he could to make his wife's day-to-day life as easy on her as it could be. Roger truly felt he owed it to her.

 **A/N:** Thank you for the reviews last time! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Comments and reviews are more than welcome :)


	3. August 18

Shelagh sat behind her desk at the Surgery, enjoying a moment of peace after a rush of appointments. Of course, there was still organizing that needed to be done, but a moment to catch her breath wasn't unjust.

This lull in patients had also given Patrick time to go over test results he had received earlier in the day. Having not been anticipating anything crucial to come back – a rarity in his line of work – he focused on returning a few missed calls before getting to the envelopes containing everything that had been sent off to the lab. Opening it, he removed the contents. The first piece of paper was one his wife had inquired about every day since he had signed his name on the official order.

"Shelagh," he called out to her, "will you come in here for a moment?"

There was no reply. Instead, Patrick heard the clacking of his wife's shoes against the floor tiles. She appeared a moment later, dressed in her nurse's uniform. "Yes, Patrick?"

"I've just opened the test results that came in. Cathy Cook is pregnant."

Given that she had asked daily, Shelagh was surprised to find out the news. She had forgotten about awaiting the results. "She is?"

"Indeed. I thought perhaps you would want to telephone her with the news."

Nothing more needed to be said. Shelagh had an overwhelming urge to share this exciting information with the mother-to-be. It was only a few steps to the filing cabinets, and mere seconds passed before her hands were ensconced around Cathy's file. At her desk, Shelagh picked up the telephone and dialed the number.

After several rings, the phone came off the hook. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Cook?"

"Yes."

"This is Mrs. Turner, Doctor Turner's nurse. I'm calling about your test results." No answer came from the girl. Shelagh hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Congratulations, Mrs. Cook. The test was positive."

There was a gasp. "What?"

"You're going to have a baby, Mrs. Cook!"

"Oh... Oh my."

Shelagh couldn't tell for certain how Cathy was responding to the news. Shock was a normal thing for any parent to experience. Given the girl's anxious nature during their previous encounter, Shelagh couldn't help but worry if she was overwhelmed by the news. "I know it can be a lot to digest. We'll need to get you booked in for care with our midwives. Are you able to pop into clinic, say this Tuesday?"

"Tuesday?" Cathy asked.

"Tuesday afternoon, yes. Do you know where we're located?"

"I do," she replied. "I've walked by a few times, always seem the prams lined up outside. If Mrs. Buckle will allow me off work, I'm sure I'll be able to be there."

"We also have clinic on Thursday afternoons as well, if that suits your schedule better."

There was another beat of silence, then, "Thank you for calling, Mrs. Turner. I will see you one day next week."

Shelagh heard the click of the telephone, signaling the end of the call. Was it peculiar? Slightly, yes. Shelagh chalked it up to nerves and jitters, nothing more. There was no time to ponder this more, as the telephone rang. Her attention, for the moment, would be required elsewhere.

Cathy slowly put her phone back down on the receiver. Since leaving the surgery eight days prior, the test she had consented to loomed over all her thoughts. The phone didn't ring often. Cathy took to picking up to check that the line was working. The few times the phone had rung, there was a moment of sheer terror that ran through her body before she picked up. Cathy had never known one could feel both anxious and relieved by it not being Mrs. Turner.

Time had run out on that course, though. It was inevitable that she would hear news sooner or later. Even if it had been a negative result, surely they would have called to let her know.

As it turned out, the result was not negative. In a matter of months, however many it would be, Cathy Cook would be a mother. Exhilarated would not be the way to describe how she felt, not in the slightest It was how one might feel if they walked into the most important exam of their life without having ever studied the material covered. It was the feeling of someone walking into a new job without any proper training.

Terrified. Unprepared. That was just the very surface of the bubbling emotions running through her.

Cathy realized she hadn't moved from the chair by the phone for several minutes, yet it was a chore to think of standing. The overwhelming sense of terror was paralyzing, and it was a struggle to continue breathing at a steady pace.

Some people in the world are cut out to be parents, while others are not. In her experience, Cathy seemed to have dealt more with people who fell into the second category. How would she know what to do to properly raise a child when she had no solid figure to model her behavior after? Some would suggest modeling their own parenting after the way they were parented. This was where the problem lay.

But she wouldn't allow herself to go _there_. No. Once the thoughts began to creep in, Cathy forced herself to stand from that spot. Sometimes, removing herself from the room where she first felt anxious helped. This was the idea for getting up.

There was one room in particular in the home that provided her with unending levels of calm. The upstairs held two bedrooms and the indoor facilities, and that was more than enough for a small family of two. It was the downstairs where they had their kitchen, the sunroom, a living room, and the lounge. Cathy had the sunroom set up as a formal sitting room, while the living room doubled as a place to eat. It was the lounge that had been transformed for her needs.

Throwing open the door to the lounge, Cathy flicked a light on. The sewing machine sat off to the right, begging her to sit and use it. Just standing in the doorway helped her to breathe a little easier. One step in, and Cathy's thoughts shifted as she began wondering what she would work on. There were a few of Roger's shirts that needed mending. It wouldn't take long to fix those, but it would be more than enough time to completely calm her.

If she was being honest, she was embarrassed by the way her anxiety played tricks with her mind. She had come a long way; that was an undeniable fact that Cathy herself could not ignore. Leaving the house had once been a task so difficult that it wasn't worth the energy expended. Still, when things got stressful, those old feelings crept back in.

The time period they were in meant that such problems were not often discussed. People suffered in relative silence for fear of being labeled unfit, tossed into a mental institution, rumored to be forgotten about. Cathy was not unstable. She could usually function under the worst of circumstances. Sometimes, things just got to be too much, a toxic result of repressing thoughts and feelings.

Cathy sat at her sewing machine and picked up the first shirt. An actor, Roger's shirts needed to look in tip-top shape if he was to wear them on auditions. Cathy felt it was her personal duty in supporting her husband's ambitions to keep his attire looking as new as possible.

Sewing used to take much longer by hand than it did with her trusted sewing machine. This meant she could get much more done than she could previously. Still, there were slow moments where she was able to find her pleasure. Selecting the correct color thread was one of those things. Her assortment of colors was a bit outlandish. When you worked for the haberdashery, and when the owner liked the work you did and therefore gave you a small discount on products, it was acceptable to have so many colors. That was at least what Cathy told herself to justify the vast amount. The thread she needed was a blue, but not just any shade. Cathy had her threads meticulously organized, first by the first name of the main color, then from light to dark. Just looking at the colors neatly in their rows was enough to push her worries away, even for just a few moments.

Hours later, the door to the home unlocked and opened. Roger was immediately met with the smell of his favorite meal. Welsh rarebit, which was just toasted bread with a cheese sauce. It was a simple meal, yet there was no denying that it was the kind of stick-to-your-ribs meal that he enjoyed. In Roger's mind, his wife's rarebit was the best he had ever consumed. Perhaps he was biased, but wasn't he allowed to be?

Roger took off his shoes at the door, as he was accustomed to doing. Then he left the sun room. He found Cathy whisking a pot over the stove.

"Hello, darling."

Cathy turned to him and smiled. After all the time they had known one another, Roger calling her darling still sent delightful shivers down her spine. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Forget dinner for a minute," he said, placing his arms around her. "I fancy something a bit sweeter first."

That was her cue. Cathy turned her body so she was facing him, then gave him a slow, deep kiss. Roger returned this with just as much passion. There was no denying that these two were madly in love with each other.

"You made my favorite," Roger commented when he finally pulled himself away.

"Of course I did. All my dishes are your favorites," she replied cheekily.

"Oh, without a doubt, love." Roger set about washing his hands, then gathered two plates, silverware, and cups. He wasn't above setting a table or two. It was the least he could do, really.

"How was your audition?" Cathy inquired as she retrieved the toast from the oven.

"Well enough, I suppose. They don't really give much feedback, you know."

Cathy nodded. The life of an actor wasn't the most stable, nor the most pleasant. From years of being together, she knew this well. Still, it was disheartening to know that Roger wasn't booking shows as he once was. Though it was the nature of the business, and she would never ask him to look for a more stable position, their impending arrival made it imperative that he find something. Cathy wouldn't bother herself with this thought for long.

"Leave the plates," she said to him. "I'll get dinner on them and be right out."

Roger dutifully left the kitchen with the items he was carrying, leaving his wife with her thoughts. Cathy, for her part, absentmindedly spooned the cheese sauce on the plated toast. She wouldn't be able to keep the secret for much longer. Her heart was racing at the thought of sharing the news.

Cathy walked into the living room with the two plates and set them on the table. Roger poured the water into the cups as she sat. After a quick blessing, Roger cut into his Welsh rarebit first and took a bite.

"Well?" she asked.

"Delicious," he said, his mouth still slightly full. After a moment, when he had swallowed, he said, "Aren't you going to try it?"

Cathy's stomach was twisting into knots from the nerves. Eating was out of the question for the moment. "I have something to tell you first."

Roger put down his fork and devotes all his attention to his wife.

"Do you remember last week when I came home from work early?"

He did.

"Well, I went to the doctor beforehand. Mrs. Buckle found me unwell, and Mrs. Turner – the doctor's wife – was there. She brought me back to the office, and I took this test..." Cathy really was beating around the bush now. It was time to spit it out. "I'm going to have a baby."

It took just a moment for this news to register with Roger. A large smile broke out on his face. "A baby?"

Cathy nodded.

"That's why you've been so sick?"

"You knew about that?" she asked.

"We live together, love. How could I not have known that?" Roger took her hands into his and kissed them. "A baby... That's wonderful, love. I know we weren't exactly trying, but-"

"Well, we weren't very careful, either."

This was the truth. In the heat of passion, a sheath wasn't always the first thing on either of their minds. That was certainly how these things happened.

"That doesn't matter, Cathy. A baby! We're going to be parents."

"You mean you're happy?"

Roger was shocked by this question. "Of course I am, darling. Aren't you?"

It wasn't the question Cathy most wanted to answer. However, she was usually quite honest about her feelings with Roger. If there was anyone safe to confide in, it was him. "Don't get me wrong, please. I am. It's just... It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

"It's a big change, but we have months to prepare for it."

Cathy nodded. Roger did have a point about this. She didn't look pregnant, and it wasn't as though the baby would be arriving the very next day. Preparing would be a huge relief to her.

"There's nothing to worry about, love," Roger assured her. "You've got me, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together."

His words served their intended purpose. Cathy appeared to loosen up a bit, the weight of the worries she had felt almost melting away. What's more, she even began to eat. The rest of the meal's conversation was overtaken by talk of their upcoming arrival. Names were tossed around, necessary items were discussed, and the mood was light.


	4. August 19

Cathy didn't have any nearby friends or relatives to share the news with, but there was one important person that needed to know.

Feeling well enough the next morning, Cathy made her way to the haberdashery earlier than she usually went. She wanted to catch Violet alone in order to share the big news. Now that she had told Roger, telling others didn't seem like that big a deal. There was a certain air about Cathy that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Her steps seemed lighter, her mind wasn't at all foggy. Despite the summer heat, Cathy never felt better.

The sign on the door said closed, but Cathy saw Violet at the till. She gave a cursory knock, letting the owner know she was there.

Violet was surprised to see her shop girl there so early on a Friday. It was rare to find such a hard worker who cared about the business just as much as she. Violet walked from behind the counter to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. "I wasn't expecting to see you so early, Cathy."

"I wanted to come early today. Friday always seems to be our busiest day, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," she said, stepping out of the way to let Cathy through. Violet could sense something different about her. She looked like she was glowing. Without commenting, she shut and relocked the door.

"I had another reason to come now," Cathy said.

"Oh?" Violet asked, turning towards her.

She nodded. "I have something to tell you." A beat, then a smile formed on Cathy's face. "I'm going to have a baby."

"Cathy! That's wonderful." Violet embraced her. "Congratulations, my girl!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Buckle."

"How many times have I told you? It's Violet! Especially now that you're going to be a mum. Mum to mum, we're on a first-name basis."

Cathy nodded. She was used to showing respect to people by calling them by a formal title, whether she liked to or not. With Violet, she didn't mind showing the woman respect. She had earned it as her boss, not to mention as a kind person. Still, she would need to work on calling her by her first name.

"Have you been to the clinic yet?" Violet asked.

"No," she said. "I was going to go one day next week if you were agreeable to it."

"Of course! I'd never not give you the time to get yourself checked by the Nonnatuns. Next Tuesday, you'll work a half day."

"Thank you, Mrs.-" Cathy caught a glimpse of the reprimanding look from the woman, and she caught herself with a smile. "Thank you, Violet."

Cathy got right to work. Violet knew it would be only a matter of time before her hard worker would have to take on her maternity leave. There was even a chance she might choose to quit entirely, to focus on raising her child. It was too soon to discuss such matters. Instead, Violet thanked God for sending such a hard worker into her life.


	5. August 23: Part 1

When the day of clinic rolled around, the nerves were back with Cathy. Medical necessities were never her favorite thing. She wasn't sure if she was allowed to ask Roger to accompany her. Were men allowed? His presence could soothe her in the toughest of situations. Alas, there was an audition in Bromley that he had left early for. Cathy would go alone, hope for the best, and see if any other woman brought their husband with her.

Her day at work was easy enough. There were plenty of shoppers to distract Cathy from thinking about what lay ahead in the afternoon. It was difficult to eat lunch when this appointment was so on her mind, but she tried her best. After all, as Violet reminded her, she was eating for two and needed to keep her strength up. If it wasn't for the need to keep the shop open according to usual business hours, Cathy might have asked Violet to go with her. She decided against it and set off towards the community center.

Though Cathy's legs projected her forward, she wanted nothing more to go back to the shop and continue working. The newness of the entire experience was what worried her. Of course, she reminded herself, there was no better way to get comfortable with the situation than to experience it firsthand. With that optimism, however slight it was, Cathy proceeded on.

It seemed like it took no time at all to get to the community center. As usual, prams lined the street in front of the building. Cathy couldn't help but fantasize about the day her baby's pram would be among them.

With a breath, Cathy walked up the front steps and into the hall. Mothers, children, and babies were all about. The level of noise was a bit overwhelming, but it was nothing she couldn't handle and get used to. Cathy waited in line behind other women, waiting to check in. It took just a few moments for the line to move. Then she was face-to-face with Shelagh Turner, who was wearing a nurse's uniform. Was the proper way to greet her as nurse or misses? Cathy wasn't quite sure.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cook!" Shelagh said.

"Hello, Nurse."

"I'm glad you were able to make it today. If you would just take a seat, a midwife will be with you as soon as possible."

Cathy looked at the lined up chairs and made a caution decision to sit at the end of a row. From where she was seated, her back to the wall, she was able to look around and take in all that was going on around her. Who was smoking, whose child was making a ruckus, who was chatting with who... It was all quite interesting to take in.

"You look nervous," said a heavily pregnant woman who sat opposite Cathy, just a few chairs down. "Is this your first?"

Cathy nodded.

"That explains it then. It's me fourth. You should have brought your mum with you!"

Why had this woman – this stranger – brought up the one person Cathy didn't want to think about? Thinking about her mother provided no comfort at all. Anger would have been a viable reaction, only this woman had no idea what she was talking about. Would it be fair to unleash fury on her? Not at all.

"My mother doesn't live in this country," Cathy said simply.

"Oh," the woman said. "That's rough. I don't know what I'd have done without me mum when I had me first. Was frightened, wasn't I? But it was all right. She helped me through the labor and those first few days, and I found me footing just nicely."

Not wanting to be rude, Cathy listened as the stranger rattled on for a few more moments about her relationship with her mother. It was all well and good that this woman's mother was helpful. After all, Cathy would never wish a despicable childhood or an unfit mother on anyone. But did she really need to hear it? No, she didn't, and yet she kept her mouth shut.

It was a relief when a midwife called the woman back for her own appointment. Cathy could go back to watching the others in the room. Only now, her mind was full of unnecessary memories and unhelpful thoughts.

"Mrs. Cook?" a red-haired nurse called out. "Mrs. Cathy Cook?"

Cathy stood from her chair and approached the nurse.

"I'm Nurse Mount. Wonderful to meet you."

"And you."

"Follow me, please."

Cathy followed Patsy to one of the exam areas. It was designed to look soothing, with red hues and a comfortable exam couch

"Take a seat on the edge of the bed, please."

This nurse was a no-nonsense one as far as Cathy could tell. She did as she was told without uttering a peep.

"From your file, I see that you're from America, are you? What is it like there?"

"It depends on where you are," she said. "I'm from New York, upstate. It's quiet up there. Then I moved to Manhattan, and it's very loud, very big. Not at all like Poplar."

Patsy nodded. "It sounds absolutely lovely. I would give anything for a holiday there. But I'm here, and you're here, and that's what matters. Now to get down to the gritty bits. I need to start by verifying your dates. Do you remember when you last had a cycle?"

Cathy thought for a moment. "End of June, early July."

Patsy wrote this down. "Have you had any morning sickness?"

"Lots, yes," Cathy admitted. "It happens a few times a day."

"Well, it could be a lot worse. We had a woman once that was sick upwards of twenty times a day."

"Can that really happen?"

Patsy pursed her lips and nodded. "It is rare, but it does. I wouldn't worry about that happening to you, though. If it was, it would be happening already."

Cathy was reassured by this.

"Have you had any other symptoms?"

"Well, I've been rather tired lately. And sometimes, cooking, I can't take the smell of what I'm preparing. I've had to ask my Roger to handle things a few times."

"All that is perfectly normal. I say, you're exhibiting some rather classic symptoms of pregnancy. You're quite normal." Patsy put the clipboard down, then said, "I'm just going to take your pulse, then your blood pressure."

These were all routine procedures, nothing she objected to. Patsy was gentle but methodical in her work. There was no chatting during this, which Cathy didn't mind.

"All is in order," Patsy assured her when the blood pressure was done. She marked these things down on the chart. "Now, based on your dates, I'm not sure if we'll be able to hear a heart beat from baby, but let's try, shall we? Have a lie down and lift up your blouse, please."

Cathy, again, did as she was told. Her legs easily went up on to the couch, and she lifted her shirt. Patsy placed a blanket over her legs, folding it back so she could easily access her patient's stomach. Picking up the Pinard stethoscope, Patsy placed the large end to Cathy's stomach, then put her ear on the smaller disc.

"No, I'm not hearing anything yet. That's not unusual at this point, so early on. We'll have to try again next time you pop in, yes?"

Cathy wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. Was it a rhetorical question, or one that needed an answer? When silence followed, perhaps too much silence, she replied, "If you think that's best."

Patsy placed the stethoscope back down. "Now if you'll just slip off your undergarments, I'll carry out the physical examination."

"I'm sorry?" Cathy asked.

"Well, to complete my tasks, I need to do an internal examination. To do that, you'll need to slip off your knickers."

"No."

"Sorry?" Patsy cocked an eyebrow.

"No," Cathy said, shaking her head.

"Come now, Mrs. Cook. I must completely my examination."

Cathy sat herself up on the couch, continuing to shake her head at a much faster speed. "No. You can't."

"Mrs. Cook..."

"No!"

Patsy knew when she needed reinforcements, and now was the time for that. "Mrs. Cook, if you'll just stay here for one moment."

Then she left the curtained area. A cursory glance around the hall showed Patsy that Doctor Turner was otherwise engaged elsewhere. The next authority figure she saw was Trixie, the acting sister of the Tuesday clinics.

"Anything the matter?" Trixie asked her.

"Actually, there is," Patsy replied. "A new patient, Mrs. Cook, has gone completely frigid when I mentioned the internal. I'm not sure what to do. You know how I feel about paperwork that hasn't been completed."

"Why don't I give it a try? When Doctor Turner is finished with Mrs. Quattle, send him over."

"Thank you."

Trixie walked back to where Patsy had just been. She saw Cathy sitting on the edge of the couch, gripping the edge.

"Mrs. Cook?" Trixie asked. "I'm Nurse Franklin."

Cathy said nothing to the new presence. She wouldn't even look at the woman. It wasn't just that her eyes were clamped shut, as they were. Cathy couldn't bring herself to look at her.

"Mrs. Cook, I've just spoke to Nurse Mount," Trixie continued quietly. "There was some trepidation regarding the internal examination." When she was met with more silence, Trixie glanced at the chart for her first name. "Cathy, it's important that the exam be complete. Now I know the first time is difficult for everyone."

"You don't understand," Cathy gasped, the tears now flowing freely. "I can't... You musn't... Please."

"I know I don't understand." Trixie walked around to Cathy's front. For a moment, she thought of sitting beside her. That thought passed, though, when she saw the distressed nature of the patient. "But I'd like to. If you'd explain."

"I can't!" Cathy said. Her eyes shot open, her head snapped to look at Trixie. "You don't understand, and I can't possibly make you. You have no idea. None at all..." She sobbed loudly.

"What's happened to you, Cathy?" Trixie asked, following a hunch. "What's made you so upset by the prospect?"

The words were there, floating in Cathy's mind. Yet there was no way that she could verbalize them. Despite the nurse's outfit, Trixie was a total stranger. How could Cathy trust her with her most heavily guarded secret? There was no way that she could. "Please, nurse. Please. Don't make me tell you. Don't make me."

"Oh, Cathy." Trixie's compassionate side kicked into gear, and she went to put a reassuring arm around her patient."

"Don't touch me!" Cathy yelled, shooting up from the couch. She was on the verge of hyperventilating now.

"Calm down, Cathy. For the sake of baby, you need to breathe. Slow, deep breaths."

It was a feat that was nearly impossible for Cathy to accomplish. The in-and-out breaths came jaggedly, ineffectual in calming herself down.

"Nurse?" a male voice asked from behind the curtain, causing Cathy to wail.

"It's just Doctor Turner. He's here to help you, as am I."

Patrick moved the curtain only a little, just enough so he could step in. He returned it back to its original place so no one would be able to see in. He looked from the woman he had only met briefly to the woman he had known and worked with for years. "What seems to be the trouble, Nurse?" he asked.

"The physical exam is proving to be a bit daunting for Mrs. Cook, Doctor," Trixie replied, her eyes never once leaving Cathy.

"I see." He walked over to the table where the chart lay and picked it up, giving a cursory look over it. He then returned to where he had once stood, so Cathy would be able to see him. "Mrs. Cook, I know the exam can be frightening, but every woman has a first time with it. There's nothing to be afraid of."

To this, Cathy laughed. "Believe you me, Doctor Turner. There is plenty to be afraid of."

"What has you so bothered, Cathy?" Trixie asked.

Cathy shook her head. No, she wouldn't talk about it with them. Instead, Cathy stood off and placed her shoes back on. "I have to go."

"Mrs. Cook," Patrick began, only to have Trixie place her his as she stood.

"I do wish you would talk to us, Cathy, so we could try to help. That's what we're here for. But if you truly need to be off, then it's perfectly all right." She made eye contact with the woman, talking as calmly and reassuringly as she could.

This was the first thing Cathy heard that caused her to take a look at how she was feeling and acting. She unclasped the button on her purse and opened it. Removing a blue handkerchief, a keen eye could spot the letters 'R.C.' embroidered on.

"You both must think I'm mad," she said while dabbing her eyes. "There was no one I could talk to before I came here, and I need to be prepared for things of this nature." Her voice was quiet as she finished her statement. Head down, Cathy moved the curtain away and rushed off.

Trixie and Patrick said nothing for a moment. The two simply gazed at the spot where Cathy had left.

"I should have tried harder to reach her, or at least to calm her down," Trixie whispered.

"No," he argued. "You were exactly what she needed. Well done, Nurse." He walked away, as there were more patients to see.

Trixie couldn't shake the negative feelings, though. Something bothered her about Cathy's reaction to it all. From experience, she knew what a fragile person looked like, how they acted. It was too soon to make assumptions; she had to get all of her facts right, had to make the correct moves, if she was to be of any use to the situation.

If Cathy wasn't already beating herself up for getting so upset, she walked briskly, just as fast as her legs would take her without breaking into a run. The blue door couldn't come fast enough, for inside she could feel safe again. Drawing even more attention to herself by running would add to the embarrassment she felt.

Her pace slowed down when she reached the top of her block. A fit girl, Cathy knew she had overexerted herself. Getting home was paramount.

When she finally arrived, she struggled to get her key into the lock. Hands shaking, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a slow, deep breath, just as had been suggested to her at clinic. This oxygen boost assisted her in the task of getting inside.

The dark hallway with its mustard walls greeted Cathy. She made sure the door was locked once more, then went to the living room. Her purse found a place on a coffee table, and Cathy lay down on one of the sofas. Proper sobbing began, ones that engulfed her entire body.

"Darling?" came a faint voice from upstairs. Footsteps could be heard, quickening when no answer was given. "Darling, is that you?"

Roger hurried down the stairs. He could see only a glimpse of his wife on the sofa, which made him more desperate to get to her. When she was in his full view, he worried about what might have happened. Kneeling by her side, he took great care in the act of entwining their hands. "What is it, love?"

Cathy shook her head. "I made a fool of myself, Roger. How ridiculous they must think me."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad." He kissed her hand. "Is something wrong, love? With you, or the baby?"

"We didn't get that far," she said. With the shame coursing through her, she couldn't look at her husband. She focused on the fireplace instead. "I knew what it was going to entail. It's a private act, making the baby. That's involved in the checks. But I didn't know they would dive in right now. I wasn't prepared for... For that."

Roger sighed, knowing what she was saying without needing all the details. "I'm sorry, my darling."

"But it's not your fault, Roger. It's mine."

"Cathy, I'll not have you talking of fault. Not with this."

"It is. Why can't I just deal with it? It's been years."

In the time they had known one another, Roger had contemplated this more than once. More than he cared to admit, in fact. It had taken time to resolve with himself, but he did eventually come to a conclusion. Never had he shared his theory with his wife. There had never been a more appropriate time for that explanation than in that moment. "Some things stay with us more than others. We can't control it. We do our best to not think about it. Sometimes, you just can't help the thoughts, and that's fine to do."

Roger's voice and touch soothed Cathy's sense of immediate danger. It didn't fix it outright. Nothing did. She was finally able to look at him. "You understand."

"I do, love. But it took me awhile to, didn't it? You have to give others that chance, too. And I know it's hard for you, love. You'll keep trying, like you always do."

Cathy nodded.

"Now, I want you to go upstairs and get into bed. I'll bring you up a cuppa."

Roger helped his wife sit up, then allowed her space to stand. He made no moves to touch her unless she initiated it. Her hands purposely brushed his as she walked, the only physical contact she could bear to give in that moment. As she walked up those stairs, Cathy couldn't help think of the nagging thought that often scared her: Roger was too patient with her. In her mind, she did not deserve him.

Thank you for reading! I'm working on this story as a part of National Novel Writing Month. I haven't been able to write much over the last few months, so it's great to be back at it. I'll be updating this story quite frequently, as I'm hoping to finish writing it this month.

If you're enjoying the story, I'd love to hear from you!


	6. August 23: Part 2

In close working quarters, tales of the cases of the day often crept their way into meal time chatter at Nonnatus House. Trixie sat at the table, barely eating her supper as the conversation around her dragged on. Her mind was elsewhere. No one spoke to her. Sister Monica Joan sat quietly to her right. Sister Julienne sat at the head of the table, deep in conversation with Sister Mary Cynthia. Phyllis Crane had a hold over Delia, who looked as though she was positively bored by whatever was being spoken. It was the woman who had dealt with the same case who noticed Trixie's silence.

"Are you still thinking about what happened this afternoon with Mrs. Cook?" Patsy asked, shifting the attention of the room onto the blond nurse.

"Indeed. You?"

"Afraid so."

"She sounded very distressed. I could hear her crying all the way from my station," Barbara, who had had the glorious job of boiling urine for blood sugar tests, reported.

"I know it's an unpleasant experience for any woman," Nurse Crane said as delicately as possible. "The area is so private. But we are medical professionals, and a complete examination is quite necessary."

"Cathy Cook would not have been able to handle that today," Trixie insisted. "If you had been there, if you had seen the look in that poor girl's eyes... I'm sure you saw it, Patsy."

Patsy nodded. "Pure terror."

"Well, did she say anything that might explain her reaction?" Delia inquired.

"I couldn't get anything from her, and neither could Doctor Turner." Trixie sipped her lemonade. She knew that clarity could often come from these impromptu case talks. If there was ever a time she was hoping for that outcome, now was that time.

"How was she, emotionally, when you called her over, Nurse Mount?" Sister Julienne asked.

"She seemed calm, cool, and collected. If anything was the matter, she said nothing to me. That's why I was surprised when things took a turn. I thought we had hit it off well enough, but if it was me, Trixie surely would have been able to complete the process."

"I don't think the problem was either of you," Sister Mary Cynthia said, having listened for some time before forming an opinion. "The fear you're describing, that sounds very familiar to me. After my attack, even if I didn't show it often, I felt it."

"Granted, I didn't carry out a head-to-toe inspection, but when I checked for a fetal heart rate, I didn't see any bruises or obvious signs of abuse."

"Sometimes, the signs are not there, but I don't think it is wise to speculate when there is no cause," Sister Julienne kindly, yet firmly, advised. Then she looked at Sister Monica Joan. When dear Sister Evangelina passed, a certain spark had died in the eldest sister. She was now prone to periods of intense quiet, but that did not mean she had nothing to contribute. "What do you think of all this, Sister?"

Sister Monica Joan placed her fork down and looked up at the group. "When I was a young nurse, I experienced a woman whose body flinched whenever a hand went near. Things were not spoken of as they might be today, but everyone knew of her story. Trauma did a number on her conscience. The remedy for which was to send her off for assistance."

"To an asylum?" Delia asked.

"Precisely. We did not yet know at the time the atrocities that occurred in such places. *It was often believed the best place for them was to be sent away for that special care." Sister Monica Joan's expression changed. "But I do not think, in that circumstance, it was wise. The woman came back distant and withdrawn."

"There aren't any asylum's anymore," Patsy countered. "We sent them to mental health hospitals."

"Sometimes you have to wonder: Are they any better?" Barbara asked.

Every woman in that room had had one experience or another with patients going to those hospitals. Sometimes, good things could be accomplished, but there were other times when more harm was done than good.

Trixie was having trouble grasping the way the conversation had turned. "So is that just it then? We write Mrs. Cook off as unstable and hand her off to someone who may not be as compassionate with their care, all because of one encounter?"

"Nurse Franklin is quite right," Sister Julienne said. "It sounds as though Mrs. Cook needs support, not judgment. We know nothing of her life experiences. Our job as nurses is to provide the very best care for our patient with the greatest amount of understanding we can muster. I think you're up to the task. Nurse Crane, will you put Mrs. Cook on the roster for a home visit tomorrow? I would like Nurse Franklin to attend to it by herself."

"Morning or evening rounds?" Phyllis asked.

"Well, she works at the haberdashery," Patsy said. "I imagine evening visits might work better for her."

"Evening it is. I will put it in my Rolodex just as soon as I've finished my meal."

Clarity was, in a way, achieved by the discussion. Trixie was determined to get to the bottom of Cathy Cook's problems, to really make a difference in the woman's life. It wouldn't be an understatement to say that that had happened before. The work was hard, and no doubt this task would be the same, but it was often very rewarding. When mother and baby thrived together, tears and fears along the way proved to be worth it.

* * *

Naps throughout the day were not Cathy's favorite thing. However, after those attacks happened, she was often exhausted and needed the rest. How many hours had passed, Cathy didn't know. What she did know was that she heard the sound of Roger's footsteps coming up the stairs.

The door opened soon after, and Roger entered carrying a tray. "You're awake. Splendid. I thought you might be hungry."

She sat up in the bed. "I would have come downstairs."

"I know, but I thought this would be a bit nicer." Roger placed the tray over Cathy's lap. On top sat two plays with three round cakes sitting atop each. Beside the plates were two glasses of water, condensation already forming along the sides. Two napkins and two sets of silverware were carefully fitted on the very edges of the tray.

"Bubble and squeak?" Cathy asked.

"With the leftover chicken, cabbage, and mash from last night. I didn't know what was planned for tonight, so I improvised. I also thought you'd want some company."

"I do if it's your company."

Roger slipped into bed beside his wife, then picked up one of the plates and a fork. Cathy picked up her own silverware and cut into the golden disc. When a large piece was on her fork, Cathy took a bite.

"Good?" he asked.

Cathy nodded, chewing and swallowing before vocalizing. "Sometimes I think you're a better cook than me. Your mother taught you well."

"When she found out I was serious about acting, she thought I might need something to fall back on. She tried her best, but I didn't pick up on as much as she wanted me to."

"You still manage brilliantly," *Cathy told him. It was the truth. On the rare occasion that Cathy worked late, Roger could manage just fine with whatever they had on hand. He wasn't above heading to the market to find something he needed, either. Cathy knew not many men could function in such a way, relying on their wives for all their meals. The Cooks had never been a conventional couple, not as long as they had known one another. With Cathy doing her part to support them as her husband could pursue his dreams, Roger picked up the slack around their home. It wasn't a situation that could work for everyone, but what mattered was that it worked for them.

After eating in relative silence for a few minutes, Roger asked, "Are you feeling better, love?"

"A little. I'm sure, by morning, it'll have passed entirely."

Roger was relieved to hear this. He hated to see his wife distressed. There was rarely anything he could do for her except be a physical presence, someone she could rely on. Lord knew she had never had someone like that in her life.

* * *

 **AN:** I just figured out how to do the horizontal lines on here. Many of my chapters are supposed to have a small break between scenes, so this will be helpful for the future.

As always, if you're enjoying the story, I'd love to hear from you!


	7. August 24: Part 1

The next day went better for Cathy than the previous. Word about her episode hadn't been passed on to Fred, so Violet was oblivious to any upsets that had happened. A slight worry before she got to work, once it was clear that she wouldn't have to explain anything, her day went on quite normally. Brassieres were fitted, ribbons were sold, yarn was selected. It was your average day. When things slowed around four in the afternoon, Violet let her leave for the day.

A leisurely walk home occurred. The day was bright and warm. Others would find the heat unbearable, but it was always mild compared to weather in the United States. Summers there were what Cathy considered unbearable; Britain's weather was a cake walk in comparison.

Once she arrived home, Cathy slipped her shoes off and went into the living room. Roger was scheduled to be at an audition in Richmond, over an hour away by bus. He had left early that morning, and Cathy wasn't sure when to expect him home. There was much to do, so she set out to getting them going. Dinner needed to be started, and there was a load of laundry to do. Luckily, dinner had already been slightly started. As Cathy had risen early when Roger left, she prepared the evening's meal – a meat loaf – and popped it in the refrigerator. All that needed to be done was warm the oven and cook it. The laundry was made much easier with the machine they had. The bathroom was too small, so it sat in the lounge.

With the oven heating, Cathy went upstairs to retrieve the dirty clothes for washing. She employed a wicker basket with a lid to house them. The light brown basket stood out from the blue hues of the bathroom walls and furnishings, but it certainly served its purpose in Cathy's constant quest in managing clutter. She kept a laundry bag in the basket, which helped in gathering the clothes and bringing them down to the machine.

Cathy retrieved the laundry bag, then went into the master bedroom to make sure there wasn't anything else that was missing. At one time, Roger was miserable about putting his clothes in their proper place when he was done wearing them. While he had gotten better about it, sometimes he forgot. It was a good thing she checked, as Cathy found a single sock on his side of the bed. Where it had come from, she didn't know. It would be washed with the rest of the things, despite the whereabouts of the sock's match being unknown.

Back downstairs, Cathy went to the lounge to get the laundry going. She remembered a time where all her clothes had to be hand-washed, which had always been a pain. All she had to do was put the clothes in, add the soap, set the timer, and the rest was done for her. A time saver, she thought herself to be such a modern woman.

As Cathy left the lounge, wondering what needed doing next, there was a knock at the door. She wasn't expecting anyone, nor did they receive many visitors, so Cathy was intrigued. She went down the hallway to the door. Opening it just a crack, she was face-to-face with the blond nurse from the day before.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cook."

"Nurse."

"I wanted to drop in today to see how you're doing. You were dreadfully upset when you left clinic yesterday, and we were worried."

Cathy was equal parts touched and irritated by this gesture. What irritated her wasn't the presence. It was that she had had such a good day, able to put the previous day's events behind her to power on. Trixie was a reminder of the bad day that happened. It wasn't lost on Cathy that this was an incredibly kind thing of the nurse to do. If she didn't care, she wouldn't have been there. It spoke volumes, and it is what drove Cathy to say, "Come in." She opened the door all the way so Trixie could enter.

Trixie was used to working in all kinds of accommodations in Poplar. The Cook residence was striking for how spotless it seemed, and she had only just walked into an entrance hall! She followed Cathy into the living room, which was just as clean as the hallway. One thing was certain – if this level of cleanliness was normal, the house would easily past the home inspection prior to delivery.

"Would you like some tea?"

Trixie smiled. "I would love some."

Cathy nodded and went off to the kitchen, leaving Trixie alone in the living room. She unfastened her cape from around her neck and removed it. This visit with Cathy came at the end of her rounds, and for a good reason. Trixie was going to get to know this elusive patient. "Your house is just gorgeous, Mrs. Cook," she called out.

"Thank you, Nurse. I'll just be a few minutes with the tea. Make yourself at home!" Cathy responded from in the kitchen, where she was making preparations. With the water for the tea in the kettle, she realized the oven was ready for the meatloaf. Cathy removed it from the refrigerator, placed it on a pan, and popped it in the oven. She washed her hands, then set about getting a tray together with all the classic tea add-ins – milk, honey, lemon, and sugar. Two of Cathy's finest tea cups were selected from the cabinet and placed on saucers on the tray. When the kettle began to boil, she poured the hot water into the tea pot. Tea leaves were added to the infuser so it could begin to steep. Cathy picked the tray up and brought it into the living room.

"You didn't have to go to such trouble," Trixie fretted when she saw the tray.

"Well, it's important to be hospitable, Nurse. Roger's mother taught me that. She said, if I was going to be living in this country, then it was important to know how to host anyone at any time."

"A smart woman indeed."

Cathy and Trixie set about putting their add-ins in the tea cup, as was customary in Britain. In Cathy's, she placed milk and a cube of sugar in the bottom. Trixie opted for milk and honey. As hostess, Cathy poured the tea.

"Thank you," Trixie said to her before picking the cup up and taking a sip. It was hot, but it was delicious. "You make a divine cup of tea."

"Roger's mother would have been pleased to hear you say that. Or to hear anyone say that, really. I don't entertain very often, you see, so I don't have many chances to showcase these skills."

"You were close to her?"

"Oh, yes. Very close," Cathy said. "I met her when she visited Roger in New York, and I knew I was going to have to prove myself. Roger's an only child, so marrying her son was quite a feat. On that trip, we spent ample time together since I was out of work then. We grew close, and I was the one who demanded that she come back to the States for the wedding. She wasn't going to; it's quite a journey. But I insisted that she be at the most important day of our lives."

"What made you decide to move back here?"

"It was a simple choice. When word came that she had cancer, we began to make plans right away to move. Roger was making quite a name for himself in New York, too. If we had stayed, who knows what might have happened. But I would have felt awful knowing that his mother was sick and alone. We made the right decision, I believe."

Trixie nodded. She couldn't imagine up-heaving her entire life in order to move to another country. Then again, she had never been married, so she had never had to make such a big decision. "I know that you work at the haberdashery for Fred's wife. What does Mr. Cook do?"

"Roger's an actor," Cathy said with a smile. "He's never been in television or in a picture. Just a stage actor. We met in New York, actually. I worked in the costume department when he was in a production of _The Taming of The Shrew_. I was his dresser."

"Dresser?" Trixie wasn't familiar with theater terminology.

"It means that I helped actors get dressed... Have you ever been to a theater?" Cathy had hesitated to ask this, as it could have come off in the wrong way.

"I have."

Cathy was almost relieved that Trixie didn't take offense to her asking. "Some people haven't, and it's much easier to explain to someone who has. When actors go off stage and then reappear moments later in a different costume, a dresser helps with that. Those are called quick changes. We're very up close and personal with actors, as I'm sure you can imagine. But I always enjoyed the work." Cathy took a sip of her tea. "I imagine that you didn't come out here to talk, Nurse."

"Actually, I did," Trixie said. "You weren't in the best shape when I last saw you, now were you? I needed – and wanted – to come and make sure you were okay."

Cathy took a breath. "I am now."

"And yesterday?"

She cast her eyes away from Trixie. "I was before I went to the clinic, and then... I wasn't."

"Why is that, Cathy? What triggered that upset?"

Cathy closed her eyes. "It's very complicated, Nurse."

"Time is of no matter here. You are my last stop. I'm not on call, so I have all evening if that's how long you need me for."

"It's not easy for me to trust people."

"I'm a nurse. You can trust me."

Cathy looked at her. "Titles don't matter much to me, Nurse. It's intentions that matter. And I know you might not intend to hurt me, but how do I know that for certain?"

"Did someone hurt you, Cathy?" Trixie asked gently. If their conversation was any indicator, she didn't think it was at the hands of Roger. So who had damage this girl so?

Reluctantly, Cathy nodded.

"Who?"

"All sorts of people," she whispered. "My father left my mother when I was 10. I never saw him again. It was just the two of us, and money was very tight. After a year and a half, in order to survive, my mother took to the streets at night for her work. She met a man who said all the right things and was kind to her. She would do anything for him... Anything.

"I didn't know what a pimp was, but that was what this man was. And he didn't just want my mother to work for him. People would pay top dollar to have their way with a young girl, he told her. Didn't she want the money? Didn't she want to make him happy? My mother said yes, and that sealed my fate. I still remember the first time, when I was twelve... I'll never forget that night."

Trixie had no idea how to respond to this. The story of Cathy's early life tugged at the strings of her heart, and she wanted so badly to give her a hug. Never had she expected to hear of something like this. "Cathy... I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. You didn't sell me out for a man." Tears spilled over from her eyes, but she did her best to blink them away.

"How long were you... made to do that?"

"Three years. When I was fifteen, the brothel we lived in was raided by the police. There had been an undercover operation, and they found out about me. My mother and that man went to prison, and I was sent to a home for young former... Former prostitutes. All of the girls there had entered into it of their own volition. Getting away from abusive situations or something like that. They were all itching to get back to turning tricks. I wasn't. I didn't want to go back to it. All I ever wanted was to be left alone... I don't like to think of myself as that kind of person, Nurse."

"And you absolutely should not," Trixie immediately said. "You did not choose that for yourself. If I may be frank, Cathy, your mother has gotten what she deserves."

"I agree," she said. "I don't think it right of me to feel that way. She is my mother, after all. But what kind of mother does that?"

Trixie had no response for this. It was a question that was currently plaguing her, too.

"So, you see, the fact that you're a nurse or Doctor Turner is a doctor means very little to me. I was hurt and used by so many people. It takes me a long time to trust anyone." Cathy shook her head. "The fact that I even told you any of this speaks volumes, really. But... The exam. The prospect of a stranger touching me again through me into a tizzy."

As a nurse, there was something Trixie needed to ask. "Have you had any medical examinations at all since those days?"

"Once," Cathy said. "Right after the police came. They took me to a hospital, and a man I'd never known before did it. When I fought back, he called me combative and had me held down so he could do what needed to be done. He was surprised that I was disease-free. If I'm honest, so was I. But after that, I don't go to doctors."

"After an experience like that, it's no wonder you're so shaken by exams, Cathy. No wonder at all."

"I feel ashamed over my reaction yesterday. I really do. It's embarrassing to be so scared. I'm sure no other patients made such a big fuss over things."

"None of them have been through what you've been through, Cathy. It's perfectly understandable. Now that you've felt comfortable enough to tell me, I'm going to work my hardest to help you feel at ease around all of us. Doctor Turner, the other nurses, and me. When I return to Nonnatus House, I'm going to see about scheduling you for weekly home visits until you're ready to come back to clinic."

Cathy shook her head. "I don't want special treatment, Nurse."

"I saw in your file that you're a citizen of this country. You're entitled to things under the National Health, including home visits. I would do the same for any patient who felt this way."

It was the truth. Trixie was a woman who was dedicated to her career. She felt compelled to make a difference in Cathy Cook's life. Though she didn't understand why at the time, Trixie settled for knowing that it was the right thing to do.

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm glad I have a few chapters stockpiled for this story. As an American, the Election and aftermath is just crazy, and I don't have muse to get any writing done. Hopefully I get out of this funk to continue on soon!

If you like the new chapter, please let me know in a review!


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